


We All Have Our Nightmares

by Nuanta



Series: As We Are [4]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Anxiety, Depression, M/M, Unhealthy Relationships, two mentally ill people unable to properly help each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-07
Updated: 2017-04-07
Packaged: 2018-10-16 03:30:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10562784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nuanta/pseuds/Nuanta
Summary: Tyler's got issues. Lots of them. But how can he focus on himself when Jamie so desperately needs help more?





	

**Author's Note:**

> I never intended for the Tyler POV of this series to end up being quite like this. But, well, I can only write this verse when I'm in a particular headspace, and when I'm in that headspace I also need to be in the capacity to actually write, which is even rarer, and so whatever ugliness in my head I've got just comes out onto the page. So, I guess this is my warning: this isn't a happy fic. Tyler has mental illnesses and so does Jamie, and they can't help each other like that. 
> 
> It would be useful to have read the first and third part of this series before this (the second really doesn't matter, oops). There are references to a lot of moments from those ones.
> 
> Unedited, because I can't go back and read this kind of stuff when I write it.
> 
> Title taken from Light in the Hallway, by Pentatonix ("but we all have our nightmares, even me my dear").

 

As far as summers go, Tyler’s is pretty okay. It’s filled with all the key ingredients to make him a superstar: intense workouts, which leave him a gasping, sweaty mess at the end of every session; charity events, where he’ll work his magic and goad other rich folk into giving more of their money; publicity stunts where Tyler puts his charms on full display and flashes smile after smile; and, of course, the parties – parties during which he’ll get so wasted he can forget.

Sometimes, he drinks to forget the argument he had with Jamie before they parted ways for the summer. That had been a disaster and a half. The good thing was that they’d silently agreed not to talk about it, so it actually didn’t hold any lasting effects over their relationship dynamic.

Other times, he drinks to forget that he missed the most important game of the season: Jamie’s Art Ross game. Sometimes, the guilt rises up like bile in his throat and threatens to suffocate him, even though things all worked out in the end. He catches himself thinking, _What if?_ far more often than is probably healthy.

Most of the time, he drinks to forget, period. Forget what? He doesn’t even know, usually. He just wants to forget. As it turns out, the best way to do that is to drink himself into a stupor and scream and dance along with thumping bass rhythms and club mixes. He loses himself in it, and _yeah_. That’s what he wants.

He wants to be found, though – when he’s lost. Keeps wishing maybe Jamie could find him, see him like this and set him right again.

Jamie can’t do that, though. Jamie’s in Dallas, recovering from two major hip surgeries. He’ll have to fight with everything he has to heal up in time for the season. He needs a support system. He needs Tyler. And Tyler can be that for Jamie. It’s just saying the right things when Jamie needs it, right? He can totally do that. He doesn’t need to ask for anything in return.

He wants to drink after those moments the most.

It’s not – he’s not an alcoholic. It’s not substance abuse. It’s not screwing with his training regimen. Frankly, he’s in the best shape of his life, and he just burns off whatever he consumes.

That’s probably why it’s so easy.

~o~

He almost doesn’t notice something might be wrong with Jamie until a memory sparks at the back of his mind in the middle of a Skype chat.

Physio. Jamie does that in the mornings. He couldn’t tell you what time the appointment was at, but he can differentiate between AM and PM just fine. 

Tyler’s shit at a lot of things, but he’s generally an okay boyfriend, or so he likes to think. And he knows Jamie well enough by now that he can tell when something might be a little off.

When Jamie admits to doing nothing but lie on the couch all day, Tyler _knows_ something’s wrong. He types, _jamie wtf r u ok?_ and is met with silence. The little blips at the bottom of the chatbox tell him that Jamie’s writing a response, but then those disappear. They start up again, and stop. And start and stop. But still, no message.

The chills seep down to his very core, and his heart races. Jamie won’t confirm if he’s okay. If Jamie was okay, he would have said so right away, put the question to rest like he always does. Jamie loves to give reassurance. If he can’t do that...

Tyler’s not sure he wants to know why he won’t.

The air around him is heavy with dread, and Tyler shudders when he inhales and exhales, slow and long, pinching his eyes shut. He hits the call button.

Jamie doesn’t answer.

_jamie r u ok_ , he tries again.

He does get a response this time, but it’s a non-answer, an apology. For what? Why isn’t Jamie talking to him? Why is he being like this? If something’s wrong with Jamie, the man who’s always been Tyler’s rock, he doesn’t – he won’t –

He’s fumbling with his phone and dialing Brownie’s number before he even realizes he’s doing it.

“Hey, Segs,” comes the carefree voice on the other side of the line. “What’s up?”

“What do you do when you think something’s wrong with someone?”

“What?”

Tyler babbles; he honestly doesn’t know what exactly he tells Brownie, but he thinks Brownie gets the gist of it from the way his voice goes from confused to commanding.

“Okay, dude, like, that’s fucking weird, but look, you gotta get him to talk to you,” Brownie says.

Tyler furiously types away in the chatbox while jamming his phone between his ear and his shoulder, tries to convince Jamie to tell him what’s up, and nearly cries when Jamie tells him he can’t.

“He says he can’t,” he croaks, voice cracking. His body’s gone numb. “Why won’t he talk to me? I don’t get it, what’s going on?”

“Try again. Ask if he needs help,” Brownie suggests, and Tyler does, because he doesn’t know what else he could possibly do. “What’d he say?”

“He’s not answering,” Tyler whines, voice rising in pitch and he hates this, hates feeling this helpless, because there’s something awful going on and he doesn’t understand anything right now.

“Okay, give him time, Seggy, just listen to me for a sec.” Brownie sounds mostly calm, and Tyler’s grateful for that at least. “I’m trying to look some stuff up on Google and like, you said he was on the couch all day? Doing nothing?”

Tyler nods before belatedly remembering Brownie can’t see him. “Yeah, and he never does that.”

“And he’s not just being lazy.” It’s not a question, not really, but Tyler bristles anyway.

“He’s not like that,” he says fiercely. “Jamie’s not like this.” Except he’s not sure who he’s trying to convince more right now.

“Yeah, yeah, okay, I know. Do you think he’s depressed?”

Tyler freezes and his skin tingles all over. “He can’t be, why would he be? He’s doing well, his rehab’s going great, he’s got –”

_I don’t know_ appears across his screen and Tyler loses all train of thought.

“He says he doesn’t know if he needs help,” he tells Brownie. “How does someone not know, how does –”

“That’s kind of part of the problem, I think,” Brownie says gently. He sighs audibly over the line. “Dude, this is heavy.”

“I know, I’m so –” _lost_ , he wants to say, but he doesn’t say it, not even to Brownie. But Jamie, Jamie is lost too, maybe, and Tyler’s got no chance in hell of being found if Jamie’s like this.

He lets Brownie attempt to guide him through the rest of the conversation, simultaneously looking for the quickest flights out to Texas and purchasing a one-way ticket in the meantime. This isn’t at all how he wanted to see Jamie again, but he feels like he doesn’t have any other choice. He doesn’t know what’s going on, but Jamie’s in pain, somehow, and that alone is enough to crush Tyler.

The gnawing panic beneath his ribs subsides a little when Jamie goes to bed and Tyler’s got his boarding pass printed. _I’m going to see Jamie,_ he tells himself. _I’m going to see Jamie and we’re going to figure out what’s wrong and I’m going to help him however he needs and he’s going to be okay_. It’s all he can do, and yet it feels like it’ll never be enough.

“Call me when you’re there, yeah?” Brownie says, once they’re ready to hang up.

“Yeah. Sorry for springing this on you like that,” Tyler says, trying to swallow down the wave of guilt now that he’s got some of his other thoughts back.

“Nah, man. Sorry I couldn’t do much.”  

“No way, you did a lot, you’re fine,” Tyler says hurriedly. Oh god, the last thing he needs to hear is Brownie apologizing when it should be the other way around, because everything tonight is so fucked up and Tyler’s right in the middle of it.

“You good, Seggy?” Brownie asks. “Anything else I can do?”

“No, thanks. I’m good,” Tyler lies, hoping Brownie doesn’t catch the way his voice trembles.

They exchange their good nights and hang up. Tyler curls under his blankets, trying to shut out the world around him, and dry-sobs into the pillow.

~o~

Taking care of Jamie is fucking hard.

It’s awful to see Jamie like this, to see him just as lost as Tyler feels, without any sense of hope or direction. Jamie’s always been a rock, always been Tyler’s rock, and that rock has crumbled into dust that Tyler desperately tries to sweep up and put back together, as much for his own sake as for Jamie’s.

It’s for Jamie, it’s all for Jamie, he tells himself. And it is, it is, it _is_ – Jamie doesn’t deserve anything of what he’s going through, and Tyler just wants him to be happy, would give the world to see Jamie smile big and bright again, to see the way his mouth opens wide when he can’t contain his laughter anymore. Jamie deserves happiness, deserves all the best things in the world. He’s a devoted boyfriend, an amazing athlete, a model captain, and he’s recovering so well. Tyler tries his best, over and over again, to make Jamie see this, because maybe once he does, maybe he’ll be okay again.

And once he’s okay again, maybe he can help Tyler.

It’s not selfish, Tyler desperately tries to convince himself. Jamie being well enough to help Tyler is just an added bonus to him being better. Even if Tyler wasn’t all sorts of fucked up, he’d still want to help Jamie through anything. He’d do the same for Brownie, his family, anyone he loves.

It’s clear Jamie can’t help him, and yet his help is what Tyler craves the most. Brownie checks in every once in a while, and sometimes Tyler thinks he can talk to him instead – but he doesn’t. Brownie would be fine telling about this, he knows that with every fibre of his being – but he’s not Jamie. And Jamie’s the one Tyler wants.

He’s being stupid and he hates it, he hates it so much, but he needs to reconcile with Jamie and Jamie can’t do that right now. There’s no one else he can do this with.

It’s not about their little fight at all. The moment Tyler arrives at the house and finds Jamie motionless on the couch, Jamie apologizes with tears streaming down his face, and Tyler instantly forgives him, because he knows in his heart that they were both at fault and he knows that there’s no point in lingering over it any longer. He doesn’t think Jamie notices Tyler’s tears, so lost he is in his own.

And that’s the thing. Jamie’s buried so far deep in his own issues, he can’t see anyone else’s. Or, if he can, he’s unable to do anything about it. Sometimes Tyler wonders if that’s the case, if Jamie’s feeling the pain even worse because he can’t help people like he always does, like he loves to do.

It’s just another question on tops of the tens and hundreds of others Tyler has for him, but can’t ask because he’s afraid he’ll just make things worse, that Jamie’s just incapable of dealing with anything else right now.

So he continues to help Jamie the best he can, even when it’s excruciating. When Jamie locks Tyler out of the bedroom one night, Tyler’s instincts scream to plead with him from the other side of the door, to beg to be let in. He needs to see Jamie, needs to hold him, to make things okay for him and also for himself. But that’s not what Jamie needs. Their needs clash, and Tyler needs to help Jamie before he can help himself.

Tyler sleeps on the floor outside the bedroom door that night, and wonders if things will ever be better again.

~o~

It takes Tyler way too long to figure out Jamie’s making things worse.

It takes a night of screaming and sobbing uncontrollably, not directed at anyone, coming from both of them. It takes a night where Jamie finally sees Tyler for the mess he is and fucking crumples. It takes Jamie getting triggered into an anxiety attack that sends him fleeing to his room, which sets off a chain reaction and then Tyler’s having one of his own, alone on the living room floor.

Caught within the turmoil of hurt and heavy and spinning spinning spinning, Tyler only has one thought: _I can’t. I can’t. I can’t I can’t I caN’T I CAN’T_

He drowns in it.

~o~

He goes back to his place, once he manages to somehow pick himself up off the floor. He goes back to his place and stumbles and falls to the floor and he cries and cries and cries.

Jamie can’t. Jamie can’t help him.

And everything is so fucked up.

~o~

It takes two weeks for Tyler to stop having panic attacks whenever he thinks of Jamie being unable to find him. Two weeks of complete radio silence. Jamie doesn’t try to text him and neither does Tyler. They can’t.

The reality of the matter hurts worse than anything Tyler’s ever experienced in his life. It’s a thousand knives, stabbing and twisting, right in the core of his very being. It’s the weight of a freight train on his shoulders, sinking him deeper and deeper. It’s a box he’s trapped in, no way out, no strength left to push open the lid.

And Jamie can’t save Tyler.

It’s a month before Tyler can mull that idea around in his head properly. Hockey is all skill and instinct, and he still has those, so he plays his hardest and sometimes he’s able to forget everything for a few hours, lose himself in the game he loves. It’s not the same without Jamie – won’t be the same without Jamie – but it’s enough. It’s something, and that’s a hell of a lot more than Tyler ever had before the season started.

The guys know what’s going on, kind of. Mercifully, no one asks. Even Jordie doesn’t comment, just pats Tyler’s shoulder whenever he passes by. Truthfully, Tyler wouldn’t even know what to say if they said anything. Are he and Jamie done now, fundamentally fractured with no possible fix? Tyler sure as hell doesn’t know.

He doesn’t want that, though – that much he knows. He wants so badly for them to be okay, wants so badly for them to touch each other and smile once more. But he can’t help Jamie and Jamie can’t help him. Not like this.

So, four weeks into the season, he thinks about it, about how Jamie can’t help him. And he wonders. If maybe. Maybe it doesn’t need to be Jamie.

He calls Brownie.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm truly sorry for how this turned out, abrupt ending and all. I originally wanted to write a fully supportive Tyler. But again, since this series is based almost entirely on real events in my life, this kind of just fit. When I started writing this segment from this angle almost a year ago now, it was because I had literally nowhere else to go. This series went from me pouring my soul into Jamie, to me dumping half of it onto Tyler now too. It's been a really long time since then, I know, but it's finally done.
> 
> I also promise that there will be another installment, dedicated to healing and recovery, with a good happy ending. I don't know when that will come, but in my imagined version of this dark verse, there is a light in the hallway, and it'll win eventually.


End file.
